Spanish Eyes
by StOnE CoLd SaRaH
Summary: PG-13 for sex! A trip to Rio turns a certain Canadian Superstars world upside down. I can't say much more without giving it away.. R&R please and Rock on!


A/N: The song is "Spanish Eyes" by Ricky Martin. I can't really tell you much more, except you should read this because I'm quite proud of it. I own no characters, Vince Kennedy McMahon does (and Paul Heyman did at one time, too) and I'm not making any money off of my misuse of them. This event (sadly) never happened, but it would be really cool if it did. Read, Review and, as always, Rock on!  
  
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I met a girl at the carnival in Rio de Janeiro.  
  
We danced all night on the boulevard in doorways we did the tango.  
  
I miss her lips and the way she sashayed her hips as she shook her  
  
shoulders.  
  
I miss the smell of her hair.  
  
I don't care if it takes my whole life to find her  
  
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I don't know why I allowed Jericho to talk me into this. I mean, it seems like I've know him my whole life by now, and I still haven't learn to tell him 'no.' 'Oh come on Lance let's go to Rio for Carnival, it'll be fun!' Sure, Chris. Even though it's a spur-of-the-moment-Chris-Jericho- trip. And we have almost no cash left, and neither one of us frequently speak Spanish. But, sure it'll be fun. And monkeys will fly out of my butt.  
  
And now look at him! The second we got here-the woman have been flocking to him and he hasn't stopped dancing and partying. And little, old, stick-in-the-mud Lance Storm sits on the sidelines and watches. It feels like we're back in Canada-except at least then I would be able to understand the language around me.  
  
"¿Señor?"  
  
Oh, my, God. I look behind me to see if this beautiful woman is talking to someone behind me. No one is there. She grins at me and her smile lights up the dark street. She pushes her hair back and points at me, lightly touching my chest with her long, red fingernails.  
  
"Un baile?"  
  
I don't know what she's saying, I just love the sound of her voice. I nod numbly and am rewarded with that dazzling smile of hers, again.  
  
We dance from dusk to dawn, never a word between us. I've never been a dancer, but she brought out whatever qualities-wether good or bad, I'd don't know-out of me. Her hips sashayed to the music bursting out of every nook and cranny in the street. My hands reach out and touch them, feeling them, remembering her shape. If this was back home in Canada or even America, she would have slapped me or kicked me in the groin by now. But all she does is smile and kiss me with those lush full lips. She tastes like, God I don't know how to explain it. Like danger and sex. Her lips travel up and down my face and neck. I soon start kissing her back and running my hands through the beautiful curls that fall around her face as we dance.  
  
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[CHORUS:] We were dancing in the summer rain.  
  
We were dancing through the night.  
  
She never said her real name.  
  
So I called her Spanish Eyes,  
  
Spanish Eyes...  
  
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As we continued dancing and kissing it starts to lightly rain. She lets out a shrill giggle as the water runs down her neck, but that giggle turns into a moan as I use my tongue to wipe the rain drops off her body.  
  
All during this, she never says her name and I never told her mine. Even later when we were a sweating, tangled mess, I yelled "Señorita" and she yelled "Señor" when we hit our pleasure spots. We hit those spots a couple times that night.  
  
One of the few Spanish words I had come into contact with was 'ojos' or eyes. One of the wrestlers I had wrestled had gotten poked in the eye by the turnbuckle. And besides the amount of blood coming from his face, I also remember him screaming, 'mi ojos! Mi ojos!' And it didn't take rocket scientist or a Canadian wrestler to figure out he was screaming about his eyes.  
  
So, that last time before we fell asleep in a rumpled heap, naked in some dark corner of the carnival, I screamed, "Spanish ojos!" and she grinned and kissed me hard before we both sunk into exhausted sleep.  
  
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The sun came up and the girl was gone.  
  
Her masquerade was over.  
  
I searched the streets drunk with love but no one seemed to know her.  
  
I miss the touch of her body so much.  
  
I long for the warmth inside her.  
  
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When I woke up that morning, the sun was shining brightly in my eyes. I could feel myself blush and respond as I remembered the night before's events. I turn to look at the woman... and come face-to-face with a chicken. The chicken clucked loudly and it was then I realized I was laying naked in an alley. And after I found all my clothes spewed across the ground and put them back on-I realized I woke up naked and alone. She was gone. My Spanish eyes. Perhaps she was like Cinderella and had to be back home by a certain time, I thought madly to myself. I searched the streets looking for her. I asked everyone I could, if they had seen someone that looked like her, but no one know who I was speaking about. I found Jericho in some little bar with two different women on each one of his arms. He said he never saw me leave with anyone. He seemed to think it was the tequila. But, I don't drink-I never did.  
  
The only addicting substance I ever put in my body was her. Her scent, her taste, her feel, her warmth, all of these were in the back of my head and I needed her. I needed another hit of those things. Even now, some 10-odd years later-I can still recall every little detail.. The way she moved and how her hair moved in the opposite direction. How she tastes and how I crave it almost as much as her touch. Her touch could drive a man insane. Sometimes I still think I can smell that intoxicating aroma of her perfume.  
  
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Somewhere in time she will come back to me  
  
and I'll spend my whole life beside her.  
  
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Like right now, I can smell it. Warm and inviting yet dangerous at the same- "Holy fucking God!" The words barely stumbled out of my mouth. PJ looks at me, eyes wide in shock, knowing I never ever curse.  
  
There she is looking like she just walked out of my dreams-which she did. She catches my eyes and walks over, her hips sashaying in her miniskirt. She pushes her hair back and extends a perfectly manicured hand with red nails. And she grins. Dear God, it's the same grin.  
  
"Hi, you must be Lance Storm. Paul Heyman says you and I are going to be working together from now on. My name is Dawn Marie."  
  
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We were dancing in the summer rain.  
  
We were dancing through the night.  
  
She never said her real name.  
  
So I called her Spanish Eyes,  
  
Spanish Eyes...  
  
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End file.
